


Open Ribcages.

by lightruined



Category: FFXIV, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 10:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20080636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightruined/pseuds/lightruined
Summary: Regret, he does not entertain.





	Open Ribcages.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be a crack marriage proposal fic, but somehow it turned into this.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His gaze is blank as fingers rap against the wooden armrest of his self-proclaimed throne. There is a low chuckle, free from the clutches of mirth. A perfect mask, he bears.

The Warrior of Light, beautiful and porcelain, is seated across from him—her gaze filled with flames of defiance. Her hands rest in her lap, the tip of a finger running across the edge of a blade. Her presence is blinding and cuts his heart and lungs in two. He finds words, though on the tip of his tongue, cannot be found.

His heart is a beast in itself; in a desolate wasteland of mopery in the expanse betwixt ribs. Oh! How the intrigue devours. The Warrior is his. Her ribcage is his to tear apart—to learn affection. She knows the archaic language of love and hatred, and everything in between, just as he does for war. 

She does not sing it.

_I will give you everything. The dark of my loneliness and my endless hunger, _he thinks—all too blue eyes narrowing.

“I trust it is redemption, you seek?” she says, finally, gaze lifting from the crimson dripping. The dagger falls, with a soft _clink_ against stone as she leans against her chair. Sunlight bathes them both in its warmth and light; through the open window. Red and blue flowers swirl in the raging wind. It is of beauty, but oh, he cannot admire it.

Zenos’ lips stretch wide, a finger lifting to tap against his grin; grotesque and unnatural on his face.

“Redemption…? No. I want and _want_, Eostre.”

His desires are as bottomless as the Ruby Sea. That is the beauty of it; he will never grow contented with routine, with _sameness_. He will not carve a groove into earth or stone; with the path, he walks again and again. His footsteps will not remain.

“What is it, do you want—_Zenos_?” such vitriol she spits, as she sneers.

He stands, steps hardly heard when they meet the stone floor again and again. Fingers crook, gesturing for her to follow.

“Has the wolf choked on his howling?”

Zenos’ smile widens, nothingness he gives to her.

And she does follow; she is his shadow. She is what he could have been; a creature of impulse, with so _much_ to give. She is everything he is not, _and_ _he loathes and envies her for it. _

The blue of the sky is endless when they stand underneath it. Flowers—a beauty he could never appreciate, brush against his ankles.

“Do you not wish to let it all go, this civility?” he asks, false kindness in the slight upward curve of his lips. He draws her into his embrace, hand seeking the back of her neck. He cradles her close.

_She is precious to me._

“Oh, my beast. You could be more. Far, far more. Do you not understand? I will devour your kindness—your violence, all.”

“This is not love,” she says. “This will _never_ be love.”

“My heart beats out of time, even now. _Love_,” he catches the word, between teeth. He desires to tear the word apart, to reconstruct it. “This is my love.”

“You will learn to love to live,” Eostre’s voice is soft, fingers curling into his shirt.

He swallows his sharp intake of breath, grin sharp as a knife.

“I take it, you have accepted me?”

She draws back just as the heavens began to weep.

“_Yes_.”

He leans down, a finger wiping across her lower lip. Crimson is of little consequence when he kisses her in the pouring rain.

“Sink your teeth into me, my beast. _Haunt me._ It is only right.”

_Death will never claim us. We will dance in the hall of death and life, alike._


End file.
